


Home, I Want to Be Tonight

by therev



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 07:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therev/pseuds/therev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam meet their fem!selves from another dimension while on a case. Wincest and fem!wincest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home, I Want to Be Tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eggnogged](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggnogged/gifts).



> A valentine's gift for my special ladyfriend! <3

The case was getting weirder by the minute. Their whole lives were weird, sure, but Dean figured there had to be a maximum of weird, even for them, a DO NOT OVERFILL line that fate, God, or whatever, fucking destiny (even though they'd proved that was bullshit) couldn't ignore.

It wasn't the first time he'd been wrong.

In the past three weeks there'd been four cases of people being abducted by their twins. Only none of those folks had ever had twins, at least not as far as their respective wife, boss, sister (not twin), and girlfriend knew. And yet respective wife, boss, sister, and girlfriend all claimed their husband, employee, brother, and girlfriend were all snatched out of their office, kitchen, car, bed by their doppelganger and pulled into some "swirly light thing", not to be seen again.

This wasn't the weird part.

Weird was the Thems who appeared in the backseat of the Impala, right out of something that Dean would have, reluctantly, had to call "a swirly light thing". He would have run the Impala into a light pole except that the Him who appeared in the backseat reached forward and corrected the wheel and saved their asses.

Also the Him was a Her. Sammy, too. Samantha. Deanna. Because God, fate, whatever, liked to poke him with a giant metaphorical stick now and then.

"You guys are us," Deanna said after Dean pulled over and turned to get a good look at her. "From another universe."

"Well, not another," the other one said. Samantha. "I mean, it's still the same universe technically."

"Shut up, dude, they know what I mean," Deanna snapped.

"Well it's not the same, Deanna, it's sort of like..." Samantha scooted forward on the seat and held out her hands, palms facing, side-by-side. Even apart from being a fucking know-it-all, her Samness was there in the way that she held her shoulders and the crinkle of her brow. "...more like parallel possibilities. We exist side-by-side, neither exclusively or inclusively, never overlapping but constantly intersecting."

"Is your Sam as Carl Sagan as mine?"

Dean shrugged. Beside him, Sam grimaced. "I think you got me beat," Dean said.

"So how-- _why_ are you guys here?" Sam asked.

"The case," Dean said.

"The twins," Sam and Dean both said.

Deanna laughed, short and bitter. Dean thought it sounded familiar. "Oh, you guys are good."

Sam ignored her. That was pretty familiar, too. "But you guys aren't our twins... I mean, you're weirdly Dean-like--"

"Except I'm better looking," Dean and Deanna both said.

"Yeah, but anyway, you're girls," Sam finished.

Deanna squinted, then looked at Dean. "In this universe, are you the brainy one?"

"What he's trying to say," Samantha said, "is that none of their witnesses claimed to see lookalikes of the opposite gender, but actually, those disappearances just didn't show up on your radar."

"'Cause 'Man Disappears with Woman of Similar Appearance' isn't really Weekly World News material," Dean said, catching on.

"So how many kidnappings have there actually been?" Sam asked.

"At least a dozen," Deanna said. "We're not sure, really. They're just as difficult to track from our end. Even Cas isn't sure how many."

"You've got a Cas?"

"Of course we've got a Cas."

" _The_ Cas, technically," Samantha said helpfully. "Just the one."

"Your Cas is our Cas?" Sam asked.

Deanna sighed. "Look, this all just gets fuzzier the more questions you ask."

"The divine exist simultaneously across all space and time," Samantha said to Sam, ignoring Deanna. "It's a pretty interesting concept, actually. Cas explained it one night with Jello."

"I'm not touching that," Dean said.

"It's just like how wherever we are, you guys are, too. Because there could be infinite bodies, but there's only one soul."

Dean looked at Deanna, who didn't seem to have anything witty to say about that. He could see Hell in her eyes, felt the heat of it in his bones. When she looked away he knew she saw the same.

"Why do you guys know so much?" Sam asked after a quiet moment when he must have been imagining Samantha with the devil inside her. "Why hasn't Cas told us any of this?"

"Have you asked?"

"Well... we've been sort of busy."

Deanna smirked bitterly. "Yeah, 'cause we've been sewing patches on our girl scout vests all this time."

Dean snorted. The girl was funny.

"Look," Deanna continued, "we're here because this is our case. You guys might be picking up the scent, but we've been chasing this thing for a while. It's getting personal. You think you're the first us-es we've met? I've seen three different Deannas and five other Deans, two of them married with kids, and let me tell you, just be thankful you've still got your hair."

"My what?"

"I'm the only Samantha so far," Samantha said to Sam, "but Cas says there are others."

"And what about all the Sams?" Sam asked. "I mean, are they all..." he paused, frowning, and Dean knew what he wanted to ask, would give anything for Samantha to say that at least one Sam never went darkside, stayed in school, married Jess, started a family. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Deanna watching him too, and he knew.

Samantha frowned. She had that same puppy dog look about her. She reminded him a lot of Sam as a kid. "Trust yourself when I say that you don't want to know."

"Alright," Dean broke in, "enough of the weird, you know, alternate reality soul-buddy bonding. What the hell do you want from us?"

"It's a spell," Samantha said, interrupting whatever biting comment Deanna was about to supply, equally as eager for the opportunity to change the subject. "You're sort of our vehicles. The connection, the shared souls, it's how we can travel. And souls occupy time more than space, so we all keep separate bodies, and--"

"And we keep our righteous tits to ourselves," Deanna said, leaning forward and into Dean's space.

Dean leaned back. "Why the hell are you looking at me?"

"Because of the half dozen male versions of me I've met, guess how many suggested that a roll in the hay was really just a little innocent masturbation?" She leaned back against the seat, looking smug. "Not that I can really blame you."

"Nice one, Dean," Sam said.

"Oh come on, Sam. You gonna believe the replicant over me?"

"She is you, Dean, and yeah, I do."

Dean shrugged, because what do you say in the face of such disloyalty? And also because he'd been considering how he might raise the question of a masturbatory cross-reality lay for the last few minutes.

"Alright, so how do we help?" Sam asked the girls.

"You don't," Deanna said. "We were just hitching a ride. The best thing you can do for us is stay out of our way while we find what's been Quantum Leaping these poor bastards, and try not to get dead so we can ride you back home." She smirked. Dean kind of hated it. "And maybe drive us to a motel."

*

This case was getting weirder by the minute. Their whole lives were weird, sure, but Sam figured meeting the female version of yourself from another dimension was a little more outside the realm of possibility (or probability) than most things, even for them.

It wasn't the first time he'd been wrong.

There were times, especially when they were kids, when he had wondered what it would have been like to have a nurturing big sister instead of a bossy big brother, but he'd decided at some point, maybe as recently as the last hour, that he got the better deal with Dean. Dean looked like maybe he felt the same, because at least he'd never had to murder anybody for eyeballing Sam, not like he seemed to want to strangle the truck driver in the diner who watched Samantha walk from the ladies' room back to her and Deanna's table.

"Stop watching girl-me," Sam said. "It's creepy."

The girls had wanted a table of their own, across the diner from Sam and Dean, "because we're not here to have some doppelganger family reunion," Deanna had said.

"I'm not. But I am about to murder Charlie Manson over there if he doesn't stop giving you--I mean _her_ \-- that super rapey look."

"Yeah, I kinda noticed that. But she's me, man. They're us. They're hunters. They can take care of themselves... Anyway, he looks more like Chuck Bronson."

Dean nodded but kept his eye on Charlie and sipped his coffee. "You know what the really funny thing is?"

"That you're not worried about the one-armed Sylvester Stallone behind you who's been watching Deanna?"

Dean looked over his shoulder at the greasy, dark haired guy eating scrambled eggs and catsup with his one not-rubber hand. Sam had caught sight of him as soon as they walked into the diner, and had been ready to rip his other arm off as soon as he'd clamped his oily eyes on the girls.

Dean shuddered and turned back to Sam. "No, the funny thing is that you are so much hotter than me as a chick."

"Dude," Sam said.

"I'm serious. I mean, I'm hot, yeah, but that Samantha..."

"Dean."

"It's like she doesn't even try."

"She's kind of your sister, Dean." That was a weak argument, all things considered, but Dean didn't point that out.

"I'm not saying I'd bone her, I'm just saying... she kind of looks like mom."

"Well that makes it okay, then."

"You know what I mean, Sammy."

"Yeah, I do," Sam said, because she did, and he'd been thinking the same thing. "In a weird not-quite way. Like a brunette--"

"...giant..."

"...slightly tomboyish..."

"...mom."

"Something about her... like when we met her in the past," Sam said, trying to be sly about looking over his shoulder at the girls' table, where Samantha was just as not-so-slyly watching them. They both looked away quickly, and when he turned back to his coffee Dean was watching him a little too thoughtfully. It was true, Sam didn't actually remember their mother except as a ghost or a young woman he met once while time-traveling, but that didn't mean Dean cornered the market on missing her. "I wonder what it was like for them, growing up with dad."

Dean shrugged. "Can you picture dad buying training bras and braiding hair?"

"Can you picture Bobby?"

Dean made a face. "Anyway, couldn't have been too different. They're hunters. They got to this point just like we did.... Well, maybe not _just_ like we did."

"I bet Deanna didn't sire a hyper-aging, homicidal Amazon daughter for a start."

"Yeah, well, the basics, anyway. They're even hunting the same thing we are... or were."

"What do you mean, were?" Sam asked. "We're still on this case."

"Let the girls have it they want it so bad."

Sam shook his head. "You're just being lazy. You always get lazy in West Virginia."

Dean shrugged. "I can live with that," he said, then pulled out his wallet and threw down a few bills. "There's enough there for the girls, in case their plastic doesn't clear in this dimension. I'm going next door to get us a room."

Sam watched him go, watched him nod at the girls, watched Samantha smile, a quick flash that was gone in an instant, watched Deanna nod in return, sprawling lazily in the booth. He wanted to be over there, to ask them about everything, anything. He wanted to know what could have been different. What he could have done differently.

He must have stared too long because Deanna turned to look at him, her expression of disapproval so familiar his breath caught in his throat. Even beneath her feminine features, soft jaw and long hair, she was still Dean, haunted and bruised and a little lost.

He turned away, but in the reflection of the diner window he watched Deanna lean over to say something to Samantha, then they both stood up, threw a few dollars on the table, and left the way Dean had gone.

Across the diner, one-armed Sylvester Stallone sipped his cooling coffee and shrugged at Sam in a gesture that seemed to say 'better luck next time'.

Sam sighed.

*

Samantha sighed. It wasn't even weird anymore, meeting her other selves, sleeping two rooms down from the person she could have been but for fate, the seemingly random chance of being born in this thread or that one, all interwoven and all potential nooses.

"This is why I thought we shouldn't tell them," Deanna said when she walked out of the bathroom, hair wrapped in a towel and not wearing much else. T-shirt and panties and socks and a frown. "Don't think about it so hard, Sammy."

"Because not telling them worked out really well in the last reality."

Deanna shrugged, stuffing her dirty laundry into her duffel. "I only needed a couple of stitches."

Samantha laughed, humorless, and leaned back against the headboard. "These guys seemed to take it okay at least."

"They must have been through some shit."

"As much as us?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Different shit, probably."

"At least these are both still alive."

"Sometimes that's not really a blessing."

"At least neither of them are the devil."

"Yeah, well," Deanna said without looking at Samantha and unwrapped the towel from her head, tossed it onto the bathroom floor, then slung her wet hair around and started looking through her bag for a comb. Samantha could see Dean in her. He had her freckles and her bowed legs though his were more pronounced. He had her green eyes, too, but they looked a little different on him.

"You look like him. This one especially."

"Who, Dean? C'mon, Sammy, did you see that brooding model face he makes? Like someone's going to take a picture if he pouts long enough?"

Samantha laughed, and this time it was genuine. "Yeah, that wasn't familiar at all."

"You know, grow up as tall as you want, little sister, but I can still kick your ass."

Samantha smiled, watching Deanna, seeing Dean.

"I'm going to talk to Sam tomorrow, see what they've done. This could be an opportunity, Dee. They may know things we haven't seen yet--"

"Cas said we shouldn't."

"Cas isn't here."

"Jesus, you don't change," Deanna said, exasperated and resigned all at once. She threw her comb back into the bag and crossed the room to sit on the edge of Samantha's bed, facing her, shaking the bed a little. "You know, these guys aren't the case, Sammy, just a by-product. The sooner we find this thing and let Cas do the whole angel sheriff gig, the sooner we can stop playing 'This Could Have Been Your Life', 'cause it's a pretty shitty game so far." She leaned on her hand, across Samantha's lap, hair dripping on Samantha's jeans. Her white t-shirt was old and worn thin.

"You're getting me wet," Samantha said, and meant for it to sound kind of bratty, but it really didn't.

Deanna smiled.

Samantha leaned forward and pushed the laptop aside and she swore she could taste Deanna's smile in their kiss.

*

Deanna sighed. Nobody kissed her like her little sister kissed her. Maybe because Deanna had taught her how so long ago. Samantha tasted like coffee and the hand that rested on Deanna's leg was a little cold, especially when it slid up under the elastic of her underwear over her hip.

"Christ, Samantha, cold hands," Deanna said against Sam's lips, but Sam just laughed and squeezed a handful of Deanna's ass and kept kissing.

It wasn't even weird anymore, making out with Sam. If Deanna was honest with herself, it never was weird, just hard to admit to herself how much she wanted it, needed it, needed Sam, who had never had as much reservation about it, not even when they were kids and it didn't mean what it meant now, when it was curiosity and not real desire, just sisters figuring things out in the easiest, safest way possible. Nor even after years without speaking, or being in the same state, much less touching.

Then they'd met the first Dean and Sam, saw them so bitterly broken and distant, even when they were hunting side-by-side.

Then Deanna had met the first other-Deanna, who was alone, and she was alone herself because Samantha could not travel where other-Sam was not, and Deanna had never wanted to be out of a place sooner.

Then they had met the fourth Sam and Dean, who knew each other completely and were broken once but had put the pieces together, and who bickered but smiled and laughed, and were fucking like rabbits.

They weren't the only ones either, and after that she didn't think it was so weird. Sam pointed out once that if they were soul mates then maybe they should take it literally. Deanna thought heaven-sanctioned incest was stretching it, but she'd take it.

Sam's hands were warming up against her skin and Deanna moved closer, never close enough it sometimes seemed, and their lips parted long enough for Samantha to look up at her.

"You think they're like us?" Sam asked, lips red, cheeks flushed already. She was so easy. Deanna loved that about her.

"You mean are they having as much fun as we are right now? I don't know. If they're lucky."

Samantha nodded, returned Deanna's smile, then bent her head to mouth at Deanna's breast through her t-shirt, wetting the cotton and biting at her nipple and Deanna sucked in a breath and petted Sam's hair, holding it back with her hands so she could watch her mouth. Fuck, but Sam was beautiful. She wondered briefly if other-Sam ever seemed this beautiful to Dean, but then Sam slid those long, warm fingers up between Deanna's thighs and she didn't wonder much else about Dean Winchester.

Deanna spread her legs and Sam teased her through her panties, pressing and palming with those hands that were strong and long-fingered and so good at precise movements, like thumbing back a hammer on her pistol or thumbing Deanna's clit, and still that mouth kept at her breast, the fabric soaked through and see-through.

"Get these damned pants off," Deanna said and pushed Sam back and Sam just smiled when Deanna moved over her, straddling her hips, unbuttoning, unzipping. "You're always wearing too much fucking clothing. It can't be good for you."

Sam laughed but lifted her hips and pushed her jeans down enough for Deanna to pull them off, then sat up enough to take off her shirts without Deanna even telling her to and Deanna caught her lips even as the tee was coming over her head, pushed her back down to the bed. Sam wore sports bras a lot of the time, because despite an adolescence of AA cups and teasing, she'd grown into a nice, solid C, and they were just about the most perfect things Deanna had ever seen. But she was wearing one of her fed bras, smart and flattering, and Deanna kissed her way along every birthmark, freckle and mole along the top of Sam's breasts. She could find them in the dark.

Her hands roamed, down Sam's ribs to her side to her hip to her thigh to between her legs where Sam was already wet through her underwear. Deanna knew her sister well enough not to tease, and slid her hand down the front of Sam's waistband, past short, wiry hairs and into a familiar wet, slick, warmth that folded around her fingers, so like touching herself and yet not all, especially not when Sammy said "fuck," and "Deanna," and panted like running from demons.

It set off something in Sam, something Deanna had been expecting, because Sammy was never patient, never waited, and was never held down for long. She rolled Deanna over, a fight-quick movement, and spread Deanna out in all directions.

"Easy, tiger," Deanna said, smiling up. Sam just grinned, a bit like the devil.

*

"Alright, but what do you mean 'making out'?" Dean asked, and Sam wanted to punch him for being so stupid. "Is that like girl slang for brushing each other's hair?"

Sam sighed. He had loitered in the diner for a while longer after the others had left, telling himself he wouldn't go knock on the girls' door and ask them every question he wanted to ask. Then he decided that he would. Only by the time he got to their door he hesitated, and then he had noticed the slice of light shining through the window where the drapes weren't pulled quite closed. Had it been any other room besides the one with his other-dimensional self and his other-dimensional-brother-sister he would not have even considered looking into the room.

But he did.

Now he was sitting at the rickety dinette in his and Dean's room and Dean was being a moron.

"No, Dean, I mean making out like..." he searched for the words, "making out!"

"Kissing?" Dean asked, just be sure.

"Yeah. A bit more, actually."

"A bit more than what, Sam? A bit more like comforting your sibling in a weirdly intimate way or a bit more, like--"

"Like Casa Erotica Six."

"Oh," Dean said, then, "Oh!" after a few thoughtful moments.

"Yeah," Sam said.

Dean was quiet, too quiet, and smiling.

"Was it hot?" he asked. "I bet it was hot."

"Dean," Sam said reproachfully, and Dean raised his hands in surrender. In one of them was a beer bottle. He was wearing one of the robes from the batcave. He took it everywhere with him now. "I get it," Dean said, sitting down on his bed, the robe gaping a little to show Sam his inner thigh.

"You get what?"

Dean shrugged like it was obvious, but all his humor was gone. "You think this means something. You think it means something about us."

"Don't you?"

"I think that's a convenient way to look at it," Dean said, then took a drink like he was talking about carburetors. He wasn't looking at Sam.

Sam had a lot of things to say to that. To ask exactly who it was convenient for. To ask if it would assuage Dean's guilt about sometimes-fucking his brother to think that maybe it was just meant to be, that every Sam and Dean across space and time had done the same. To point out that they'd been ready to kill each other until it had finally happened again, after Sam thought it never would, after Purgatory, after Lucifer, after Amelia and Benny. After everything.

But Sam knew Dean probably better than even Dean knew himself, and it was in the way he looked everywhere but at Sam, and the way he drank his beer like this conversation was no big deal, and the way he curled his bare toes in the carpet, back and forth, back and forth.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" Sam asked, and stood from the table and crossed over to the bed in one and a half strides, and another half used to push Dean back and push that robe up long thighs and out of the way, sliding hands up shower-warm skin and dropping to his knees.

"Watch the beer, Sammy," Dean said, holding his bottle upright, leaning on his elbows, so Sam took it and took a long swallow and sat it on the bedside table and Dean was already a little hard that fast. Sam pulled his legs by the back of the knee, bringing him closer. Dean spread his legs without hesitation. He was easy like that. Sam loved that about him.

"I'm gonna talk to Samantha tomorrow," Sam said, taking Dean's cock in hand, feeling it fill out and harden as he touched him, "find out what they've seen, what they know."

"Whatever you gotta do, dude," Dean said without actual interest and a little breathless, watching Sam's hand, watching Sam, so Sam bit Dean's inner thigh, not too hard, and Dean hissed and said, "Christ, Sammy."

Sam followed the line of his thigh, the hairs growing more sparsely the higher up he went, alternating biting and kissing until he kissed the head of Dean's cock with his palm tight around it and Dean was already a little wet but Sam spat and let it run down, smearing it with his palm.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean said and Sam could feel fingers in his hair but not pushing, just resting, petting, "c'mon."

*

Samantha knelt between her sister's thighs, nudging at Deanna's panties with her nose, pressing with her tongue against cotton already wet, wetting it more.

"C'mon, Sammy," Deanna said, so Samantha tugged at Deanna's waistband and when Deanna's panties were lost in the sheets, Sam buried her face in her sister's cunt and watched in her periphery as Deanna's thighs trembled. She tongued through slick folds, pushing in just enough to tease, down and up and down and up again to circle and suck on Deanna's clit. Deanna made a sound, and then another, all strung together but unlike words, and then her hands found Sam's hair, strong hands made for fighting, killing, now encouraging when Deanna's words failed her and all she could do was pant and moan and say "fuck" like it meant something more, until after a little while she went silent and still and Sam knew. Then Deanna came back to life, more alive, noisy and writhing and saying "oh" and "oh, god," and Sam had to work to keep it up, to try for just a little more, a little longer, Deanna's hips bucking even as the grip in Sam's hair was pistolgrip strong.

A moment later, Deanna collapsed, boneless, breathless, panting and still kind of arched, arms falling away, useless, like she didn't know what to do with them if she wasn't directing Sam on just how to eat her sister's pussy.

"Goddamn," Deanna said, sighing, breathing.

"Don't fall asleep," Sam said, and licked her lips.

*

"Goddamn," Dean said, watching his brother's head move up and down, big hand working the base of the shaft. Dean had his hand in Sam's hair, soft and so long and grabbable, like a girl, but it wasn't a girl, it was Sam. Sam's pink lips, Sam's stubborn knowitall mouth that knew Dean's cock as well as it knew an exorcism. It was almost too much to watch, so Dean kept closing his eyes, but then he could feel Sam shaking and knew he was jerking off and that was definitely too much.

"Get up here, Sammy, c'mon, c'mere," he said, and Sam didn't hesitate. He stood from his knees and began shucking clothing. Dean sat up to help, only to find Sam's cock already out and hard from where Sam had been working it. Dean pushed down his jeans and Sam toed off his boots, stepped out of his pants, and Sam's cock was still right there, Sam stroking it, Dean's hands on Sam's hips, so it was easy to lean forward, let Sammy guide himself into Dean's mouth, to brush Sam's fingers with his lips when he sank all the way down.

"Fuck, Dean," Sam said, and Sam had said once that Dean's mouth was made for this. Dean pretended at the time to be offended, but he wasn't.

Dean kept his hands on Sam's hips but let Sam move and Sam thrust a little but mostly he palmed Dean's skull, holding it at the back and not pushing but guiding all the same. Dean didn't have enough hair to pull but Sam's hands were big enough that it didn't matter, and that was just as well because Dean liked letting Sammy move him, tell where to go and how deep, even though he'd bitch if Sam tried to tell him how to drive somewhere, or how to change a tire, or any other everyday task that wasn't sucking his brother's cock.

Then Sam pushed him away and Dean trailed saliva and precome that broke between them and fell across his chin. He wiped it with the back of his hand.

"C'mon," Sam said, pushing him backward, "and take off the damn robe."

*

"C'mon," Deanna said, pulling Samantha up to lay next to her, both of them naked now, and kissed her for a long time, palming Sam's breasts and letting Sam hold her down and kiss her throat. Sam was even wetter when Deanna slid a finger inside her, wiggled it around and Sam wiggled too, moved against her, with her, until Sam's fingers joined her, gliding expertly over her clit. Deanna slid down, watching Sam, feeling Sam from the inside, watching her open-mouthed panting, watching her watching Deanna, and Deanna leaned down to lick alongside Sam's fingers, around and between, flicking feather light and then sweeping flat, broad-tongued and then further, deeper. She moved to kneel lower on the bed, pushed Sam's knees up and pushed her tongue in where her fingers had been, massaging, tasting, letting Sam do the rest of the work. With her free hand she helped herself, because there was nothing sweeter than the sound of Sammy almost-coming. Except maybe the sound of Sam coming, which was higher pitched that Sam ever spoke, and more delicate and fragile than Sam had ever been, and when she went quiet again and her legs fell to the side and her fingers went still, Deanna came again, easy because she was already so sensitized, and then she was still, too, resting her head on Sam's thigh, watching the ceiling and the light that moved across it in a thin stripe as a car drove by outside.

"I think we left the curtains open a little" Sam said without much concern.

Deanna smirked but it was lazy and sleepy.

*

Sam could count on one hand the times this had felt like anything more than convenience, relief of frustration, or a fight that turned physical in different ways, and most of those, the times that had been different, were so long ago he only remembered them because he made a point of it, tucked them away in the place where he kept all the best things he didn't want to lose, to remember when there was nothing else good to remember. His feather to fly.

This was one of those times, Dean kneeling beneath him on the bed, saying Sam's name and not just cursing or saying shit he thought was supposed to be hot but Sam always found kind of funny, like "ooh, baby, like that". Sam wondered if he said that sort of thing with girls, then he remembered the other girls, their other selves, a few rooms down, remembered Samantha's face between Deanna's thighs and he pulled Dean's hips hard and Dean said "Sam!" like "please" and Sam didn't think about the girls again.

Dean was jerking off, faster now and Sam could feel it, hear it, could tell that Dean was close so he tried to time it, to match his rhythm, until Dean came with a shout that made the person in the next room bang on the wall and Dean faded into boneless laughter, body shaking with it.

Sam pulled out, still hard, still aching and Dean said "wait, wait", and rolled over onto his back with some effort, Sam still kneeling between his thighs, and he was smiling up at Sam, still laughing about the neighbor. He folded his hands behind his head. "Alright," he said.

Sam started stroking with Dean watching, watching with a smile and that lazy, loving look in his eyes, like he was proud, like Sam was twelve and he'd hit a bullseye, like he was twenty-three and he'd stolen a car, like Sam was the only thing.

He came with a noise much quieter than Dean's, leaning forward, coming on Dean's stomach, Dean's soft cock. The neighbor didn't knock again but Dean was still laughing when Sam fell down next to him, breathing huge and heavy.

"Let's see those chicks do that," Dean said, a little sleepily, and Sam laughed so hard the neighbor did knock.

*

In the morning there was a cop going door-to-door and he woke Dean up to ask if Dean had noticed any suspicious activity the night before, since the gentleman in Room 8 had his car stolen.

"An old '67 Caprice," the cop said when Dean asked what kind of car.

"No, sir, didn't notice a thing."

Sam came back with coffee and bagels and said that the girls were gone.

Eight days later, the girls caught up with them in Michigan, where three people had been killed by a ghost dentist. They were standing in the hotel parking lot when Dean and Sam pulled up, leaning against a faded blue 1980-something Volvo. Dean was tired and he and Sam both smelled like smoke and Sam had nearly gotten a ghost root canal.

"Ladies," Dean said after he and Sam crawled out of the Impala. "Can't say it's exactly good to see you again."

Deanna pushed off of the car, shrugged tiredly. "We're just here for a ride home," she said.

In fact, looking closer, they both looked pretty beat. Deanna had a busted lip she'd covered with makeup, and a puffy cheek. Samantha looked better, but her hand was wrapped in a bandage and beneath her caffeine-alert expression, Dean recognized the long familiar face of a Sam ready to sleep for a week.

"Alright," Sam said, more softly than Dean. "Let's go inside."

Inside their room they found a woman in a trenchcoat and Sam's gun was out and up before the light had even been switched on, Dean's a split second after.

"Lady, you'd better start talking and it had better be good," Dean said, but the woman only looked at Deanna who pushed Dean's gun down and slapped the back of his head.

"What the fuck are you doing, you moron?" Deanna said. She didn't look so tired when she was pissed. "It's Cas!"

The woman, a brunette, shrugged like she'd just learned to do it yesterday.

"That's not Cas. Cas is a guy! Cas is Jimmy!"

"I assure you, Dean," the woman said, in a grave voice that was too high and too soft but really weirdly familiar, "I am myself."

"But I thought you said there was only one Cas?" Sam asked Samantha.

"She's right," the woman said. "Only one consciousness but many vessels. I am currently here with you, but also I am in Mound, Minnesota, Akron, Ohio, Daytona, Florida, Vancouver, British Columbia, on a fishing boat in the Gulf of Mexico, on a park bench in Dayton, Ohio, standing in the snow in Stowe, Ohio, and drinking something called Donkey Punch in a bar in Tijuana." She paused. "To name a few."

Dean watched her for a moment. There was something about her eyes. They were blue, but that wasn't it. "So where's our Cas?" Dean asked. "He's been MIA for a while now. We could use his help, you know."

The Cas that wasn't his Cas shook her head. "That's not for me to say." Then she looked to Deanna and Samantha, who were standing close to each other, looking worn and tired again. "Are you ready?"

"Wait," Sam said, "you're leaving?"

Deanna shrugged. "We caught our guy. Or, you know, space and time-rending bastard angel monster, whatever."

Sam wasn't satisfied. "But shouldn't we, I don't know, say our goodbyes or something?"

The room went quiet, everyone looked around at everyone else.

"See ya," Deanna said, then yawned.

"It was nice to meet you," Samantha said politely, extended her hand then seemed to remember that it was bandaged and pulled it back. She waved instead.

Sam nodded at Samantha, then Deanna, and Dean saluted them both silently.

Everyone looked at Cas to see what happened next.

"Tell our Cas not to be a stranger, okay?" Dean said to her, but she only blinked and nodded, then said a few words in Enochian and the room was empty but for him and Sam.

"That's it?" Sam asked, standing there in his stinking jacket and looking like the kid who learned that Santa wasn't real.

"Looks like," Dean said, and shucked his coat. He fell onto the closest bed, didn't even bother taking his shoes off. "I don't know, kind of nice knowing we're the only us-es in this dimension.

Sam sat down on the other bed, elbows on his knees. "Yeah, there's that at least."

The room was quiet and Sam kept rubbing his hands together.

"Sorry you didn't get to ask your questions," Dean said after a while.

Sam shrugged. "You know, I thought about it and it doesn't matter. I mean, none of it. What we have, where we are, what's going to happen. It is what it is. We can't change it. We can't go back."

That made sense so Dean nodded, but Sam was still watching his own hands moving against each other and thinking too hard.

Dean stood and went to the cooler and grabbed two beers. He handed one to Sam.

"We can't change anything, you're right. And maybe we can't go back, whatever that means. But we can drink warm beer and watch bad television, and that's just as good."

Sam smiled. "And maybe shower?"

Dean nodded, took a long pull from his beer. "You scrub my back, I'll wash your hair?" he suggested.

"Deal," Sam said, smiling up.


End file.
